The best TV show of the year

The best TV show of the year won’t make you feel good, but it certainly will make you feel deeply.

Apple TV+’s “Disclaimer” (streaming Fridays, ★★★★ out of four) is as dark and depressing as any story can be, and it will knock you out with the sheer power of its brilliance. The limited series from Oscar-winning director Alfonso Cuarón, starring Cate Blanchett, Kevin Kline and Sacha Baron Cohen, is a stunning work of art, a head-spinning odyssey of emotion and tension that will grip you, disgust you, thrill you, and, maybe teach you something about yourself. You may not like what you learn. You don’t have to. There are plenty of other places to look for comfort TV.

No, instead of offering a warm hug, “Disclaimer” delivers a shiver and shot of adrenaline. Through exquisite performances, a superbly crafted script and Cuarón’s distinctive visual style, the series toys with your assumptions and notions, offering what appears to be a simple tale of revenge. But not everything is what it seems. At moments, you’ll desperately want to look away. You won’t be able to peel your eyes off the screen during most scenes. But you’ll certainly keep watching until the end.

Based on the novel by Renée Knight, “Disclaimer” tells a story about a story, specifically the consequences of events that transpired between a 19-year-old British kid, Jonathan (Louis Partridge), and a young mother, Catherine (Leila George), on an Italian beach in the 2000s. The details of the encounter aren’t immediately clear, but by the end, Jonathan is dead and Catherine never tells a soul what happened. Twenty years later, modern-day Catherine (Blanchett) becomes the obsession of Jonathan’s father Stephen (Kline). The old man discovers what he believes to be evidence of Catherine’s role in Jonathan’s death, and is eager for revenge and catharsis after losing Jonathan and later, his grieving wife Nancy (Lesley Manville). With very little care for collateral damage, he lashes out in destructive, disturbing ways.

Stephen’s scorched-earth crusade leaves no part of Catherine’s life untouched, not her weak-chinned husband Robert (Sacha Baron Cohen) nor her underachieving son Nicholas (Kodi Smit-McPhee). The “disclaimer” comes from a book written by Nancy in her grief and anger that Stephen finds and publishes. He purports it to be the devastating truth that will bring down Catherine, now a respected journalist and documentary filmmaker who is famous for shedding light on the misdeeds of others. While Stephen wreaks havoc in the present, the series flashes back 20 years to Catherine and Jonathan’s encounter, and the effects of the boy’s death on his troubled parents.

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Cuarón, director of celebrated films like “Gravity,” “Children of Men” and “Roma,” has a reputation as a meticulous and unrelenting storyteller, and his style suffuses the seven episodes. His camera stays on Blanchett’s expressive face, on the gray waves of the Mediterranean Sea, on the ugliness of Stephen and Nancy’s grief. The series has graphic sexual scenes that feel neither exploitative nor unnecessary; instead, they are terrifying in their intimacy and power. As the story unfolds in the past and present, Cuarón’s script and direction never let the audience relax.

Blanchett is perhaps one of the only modern actors who could pull off Catherine’s complexity. It’s hard to discuss just how many emotions the character has to go through without spoiling the series’ plot but suffice it to say, Blanchett gets to display her entire range. The whole cast rises to meet the multifaceted darkness of the material, but it is Cohen who surprises most of all. Known for his farcical comedies like “Borat” and “Bruno,” the actor is nearly unrecognizable in a wig and glasses playing the straightest of straight men with the fury and fervor of his comedic characters, but without an ounce of irony. Who knew Borat could do this?

Good TV subverts your expectations. The best TV takes your expectations, spits on them, throws them out the window and makes you take a look at yourself in the mirror going, “Huh.”

“Disclaimer” begs you to look at yourself and others, and what you believe to be true or not. It is a story told with such dramatic force it might leave you bowled over. It might leave you cold and wondering. It might leave you angry.

But it will leave you thinking about it. Maybe for a long time.